I’m Sorry… It’s Raining…

Yesterday as I finished my boot camp class, I crawled over to my cell phone which was too heavy to lift at the time, and noticed a text from the Irish guy:

“Dinner tonight?”

WTF.  It’s 6:00.  How about a little planning, buddy?  I already had plans with a girlfriend, so I told him so.  I also told him that he’s not going to have much luck if he keeps asking me to do things at the last second.  So he gave me 24 hours and asked if I could go out Thursday (which is today)…. And I think he purposely said “Thursday” instead of “tomorrow” to trick me into thinking it wasn’t last-minute.  Which it still was.  But I had no other plans, so I agreed.

Is it wrong to back out an hour and a half before we are supposed to meet?  Probably.  But I did anyway.  I have good reasons.

1.  It’s raining

2.  I don’t feel like showering

3.  I’m tired

4.  It’s dark out

5.  My hair will be frizzy from the rain

6.  He wanted to go to a hibachi place… the same one I just went to on Sunday night

7.  I don’t want hibachi two nights in one week

8.  The hibachi chefs will think I’m a whore

9.  It’s hot in there

10. I don’t feel like it.

Pretty legit list of reasons.  But I actually was curious to see if he would put any effort into dressing himself tonight.  Last time he showed up in a rugby jersey.  This is a total pet peeve of mine.  Jerseys… fine… wear them around the house.  Wear them out to a bar with your buddies.  Wear them ON THE FREAKIN’ RUGBY FIELD.  But on a date?  No thank you.  Why are girls supposed to look super cute for dates, and dudes think they can roll in wearing a polyester shirt with sponsors all over it and dirty sneakers?

Ok I’m being cranky, I know.  It’s the rain.

‘Til next time….   xoxo

Editor’s note:  Milos assisted with this post (he didn’t want me to go either)

Needed: Man for Heavy Lifting

It’s that time of year again… the time of year that when you live in a 150 year old building and don’t have central air, you need to take that huge 500 pound AC unit and put it in your window… the one of two times of year I realllllllyyyy wish I wasn’t single (the second time, of course, being the fall, when the AC has to come OUT of the window).  #firstworldproblems.

Sunday night I asked my ex, T, if he wanted to get dinner with me in Hoboken.  Coincidentally, on Sunday I also had a suitcase in my car that needed to get up three flights of stairs to my apartment, as well as a very stubborn clogged toilet.   Guess it was just good timing that I was hungry & hadn’t seen him in a while… so both of those things got taken care of.   Now it’s hot in here.  I need to get back on match.

The dating circuit has been slow.  I’ve hung out with the Architect a few times over the past couple of weeks (referred to in this post:  Recycling (Men)— name changed for anonymity-sake).  I was with him the night before my cousins, Megan and Mark’s co-ed baby shower/BBQ, when T-Diddy texted (and called…several times…in a row…) asking what I was doing.  When I finally replied, telling her I couldn’t talk and I was with the Architect, she of course, demanded a photo.  He was obviously sitting next to me during this stalkage, when I was saving a photo off of his facebook page to send to T-Diddy because I knew she wouldn’t rest until she had one.  Her response?

“I APPROVE!  This guy is the hottest one you’ve dated ever!  We are planning on leaving at 9:00 tomorrow morning.  Bring [Architect].”

My response:

“Mother are you kidding me?!  I’m not bringing a random person to a family party in Maryland.  Although I do thoroughly appreciate your approval.”

I think T-Diddy is getting desperate.

The next day we took a family road trip, Carissa and me in the backseat like old times.  T-Diddy asks, “Soooooo…. what do you think of [Architect?]“

“He’s fine.”

“Wellllll what do you think he thinks of you??”

“Ummm…. he’s probably thinks I’m fine too… just whatever.”

Not the explanation she was looking for, I’m sure…. but there’s really no other way to describe it.  He’s playing hard-to-get, which is probably the only reason I’m still entertaining him.  He’s kinda mysterious.  And he has plump lips.  That’s about it.

We get to my family’s house in Maryland for M & M’s baby shower, and it was so wonderful to be there.  We used to go way more often than we have in past years, including every other Thanksgiving, and spending time with my cousins putting on plays in their basement, rolling down the hills in their backyard, and eating 20 different varieties of cereal in the morning are favorite memories from my childhood.  I got to see my little cousin Megan about to pop with Amelia Grace, who arrived just days afterwards, as well as my other cousins who I don’t see nearly enough.  Stacy, my soul-cousin, introduced us to her new boyfriend, Ben, who has apparently been caught up on my blogging.  As we’re all sitting at a table on the lawn discussing life & the dating scene in the NYC area, Ben is thinking of some friends in Brooklyn he may be able to set me up with.  He’s deep in thought, and then asks,

“So are you into grungy guys with beards and long ratty hair?”

“YES!”

Why did I say yes??  I don’t know.  I don’t think I meant it.  ”Long, ratty hair???” Come on, Ben, you can do better.  Shampoo and a haircut, and I’m in.

In other news The Irish guy, (The Guy from the PATH) asked me to go out to dinner last week.  I was busy.  All week.  And I didn’t really give a crap about going out to dinner with him.  Since I’m a pushover, as I’ve mentioned multiple times before, I didn’t actually tell him no.  I just pushed him off.  So he suggested this week.  We’ll see…

As my strange life goes, I dated a National Champion Halo player about a month ago (yes the video game…. as referenced in several previous posts), and yesterday I came home to Halo 4, the game, in my mailbox.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know how it got there.  It wasn’t addressed to anyone; it was literally just a brand new video game sitting in my mailbox…. which, by the way is INSIDE the first locked door to my building.  I don’t have xbox.  I don’t play video games.  I’m confused.  The Halo guy didn’t put it there.  I texted him for the first time since we parted ways, and he thought it was a strange sign.  He said Halo doesn’t just show up.  I don’t know… maybe it does.  Maybe it’s just a promotional thing that everyone gets Halo 4 to try it out, and then review it?  Go figure.  I offered it to my brother, who does have Xbox, and he suggested that instead, we sell it and then go to Green Rock.  (DOLLA BEERS Y’ALL!!!!!!!).  I’m TOTZ down for that plan!!!!

This week is a relatively slow one on the social scene.  I have a girl-date with Meg tomorrow after work, and the Architect asked me to do drinks on Friday.  He’s working on a super swanky apartment building on Central Park which I’ve been drooling over photos of, so he suggested I come see him when he’s done with work, so I could check out the building, and then go out from there.  I’m so nosey.  I want a moment in the life of the rich and famous, so I’m actually really psyched about that.

Maybe I can get him to install my AC afterwards.

xoxo Gossip Girl

Recycling (Men) II: The Snowboarder

Yesterday evening, the “Big 3″ decided to get together after work.  The Big 3 is myself and two of my very favorite ex-roommates from Hoboken. We all lived together in the greatest apartment in the world for a short period of time, but one of us moved out to live with her future (current) husband, and I moved out to try and be a grown-up and buy a place (which is about 5 blocks away from our beloved Big 3 apartment).  So we are all physically separated, but remain attached at the soul.

After a night full of off-the-wall, inappropriate conversation, Mel left to catch a train home to Jersey City, and Meg and I began the walk home to our respective apartments.  Along the way, we came across a newer restaurant/bar, the Fig Tree.  I remembered this place from a Yelp Elite event, and also from a former “fling” who sold wine here.  I suggested we stop for one of their “signature” cocktails, and Meg quickly agreed.

Once we arrived and were a full “signature” [very strong] cocktail deep, I decided to text the person who was responsible for introducing me to this place:  Snowboard Man.  I dated this guy for a good, solid three weeks last year.  He was a sponsored skateboarder and professional snowboarder, and is currently, a wine dealer.  His bright blue eyes and dark hair caught my attention at first look.  He was smitten with me as well.  At the time, we were super into each other.  He wined and dined me, took me to a car show, and introduced me to places in the city I would have never seen on my own…. then I found out he had a girlfriend.

I didn’t hold my tongue while Meg and I were sitting at the Fig Tree bar.  I made sure the bartender, and the Greek manager, Nikos, knew what a D-bag this guy was…. but I also made sure the D-bag knew I was there and that he should come meet me.

“Don’t worry, Meg. I’ll just make him come  here and then pay our tab for these ridiculously expensive drinks.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

I ordered a couple of drinks after making sure Snowboard Man was joining us.  Why did I tell him where we were?  I think it’s just because I wanted the last word… (a year later and a few drinks deep).

He showed up.

Not only did I chew him out for trying to date me while he had a girlfriend, but I made sure he knew that the people at this bar also knew what he did (because I told them).  He wasn’t proud.  And he didn’t deny what he had done.

He assured the whole group of us that he was NOW actually single because his girlfriend had dumped him, (THANK FREAKIN’ GOD… because if she hadn’t yet, I was about to send her a message detailing the reasons she SHOULD).

Meg left, leaving me money to pay our part of the bill.  I assured her she’d be getting that back, because I’d be making the Snowboarder pick up the tab.  He did.  (A small price for his shady behavior).

He walked me home.  He assured me that this time he was ACTUALLY single and was really interested in dating me.  I laughed at him.  We got to my apartment.  I tried to say goodbye…. he tried to come in.  I decided to give him a bit of hope…for shits and giggles.   I told him if he could figure out my magic trick, I’d let him come up to my apartment.  There’s no way anyone is figuring out my magic tricks.

I turned around and got my coins ready (thanks, Dad!…and I’m sure you’re happy to know this is what I’m using the coins for)…. I told him to pay close attention while I made one coin disappear.  He was certain he’d be able to figure it out.  The coin disappeared.  He grabbed my arms and shook them.  He searched under my watch and in the cuffs of my jacket sleeves.  He eyed up the ground by our feet.  Nothing.  He was dumbfounded.  He looked like a stupid (verrrrry stupid) lost puppy (with pretty blue eyes and dark hair).

“Ok, well goodnight.”

“NO!  Give me one more chance!!!!  Do it ONE MORE TIME!!!!”

“Nope.  Sorry.”  One and done.

I said goodbye.  He tried to go in for a kiss… on the mouth… I turned my cheek and gave him a quick hug goodbye.  Are you KIDDING me, dude???

I went upstairs and made vegetables.  That’s my thing.  I make drunk vegetables.  Sooo good.  Two minutes later…. phone call… Snowb0ard Man….  Really??  Why?  I answered:

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry I tried to kiss you.”

“Ummmm….  okay.”

Get your cheating ass outta town. And thanks for the super fancy drinks.  Peace Out.  Ass.

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The Guy from the PATH

So I went out for drinks with the guy from the PATH on Monday night.  Turns out he was Irish.  I guess I knew that already from Saturday night, but like I stated previously, I wasn’t really paying any attention to him then.  I was using him for a pillow, and that was it.

We met up outside a local bar and he was just as cute as he looked during my Facebook stalking.  But as soon as we walked inside, he opened his mouth, and in his thick Irish accent asked, “So, do you come here often?”

I just burst out laughing.  ”Do you know how cliché that line is?”

He just looked confused.  I guess it’s not funny in Ireland.  He then reminded me of MY line from the PATH:  ”Are you going Hoboken?”  followed by, “Can I sleep on your shoulder?”  So I shut up.

It took me a little while to get used to his accent.  Actually, I didn’t get used to it at all.  I just kinda gave up at some point and guessed what he was saying based on context.  I spent more effort concentrating on what he was saying, than the content of his stories.  And what is it with me going out with guys with the most obscure hobbies?  The last one was Halo champion of America, and this guy is the national carpentry champion of Ireland.  He traveled to Japan several years ago to compete in the WORLD CARPENTRY CHAMPIONSHIP, at which he placed 10th out of 19, and was very disappointed in his performance.  I mean who even knew carpentry was a sport?  Certainly, not I.

So we’re chatting, and the carpenter mentions a “football” team he’s on.  Okay…. football.  Now there’s a few different things this can mean.  And he’s Irish, so I’m thinking it probably doesn’t mean the sport that the Giants and the Jets play.  So I ask for clarification.

“So by ‘football,’ do you mean what we call ‘soccer?’ Or do you mean rugby?”

“No, football.  Gaelic football.  It’s sort of a mix between soccer and rugby.”

GAELIC FOOTBALL?!  Why are boys SO DAMN CONFUSING?!  I thought I had all of their sports somewhat figured out… I mean I even read “The Idiots Guide to Rugby” and “Football for Dummies.”  But now I’m thrown a new one…. Gaelic Football.   I can’t keep up.

The night goes fine, we didn’t stay out for long.  It was a Monday.  Carpenter mentioned early on that he had a super early morning for work (I should mention here that he has a good job).  So after two beers each, we got the check (and by beers, I mean he drank CIDER, which I feel is maybe possibly a little girly…but he’s not the first guy who’s done it in recent weeks, so I am trying to hold judgement).

So here’s the deal:  I’m a pretty independent female.  I do not expect men to pay for me.  I ALWAYS offer to at least split the bill.  When the check came for our FOUR beers, I reached into my wallet and realized I didn’t have cash to offer, so I pulled out my credit card and said “I only have a card.”

So he puts his cash back in his wallet, pulls out a credit card, takes mine out of my hand, puts them both in the check folder, and says okay, then we’ll just split between two.

Now I’m a little bit flabbergasted.  This was a first date.  A first date in which HE asked ME out.  And we are going to split FOUR BEERS among TWO CREDIT CARDS?  Call me old-fashioned in this instance, but I felt he should have picked up the check.  To split four beers among two cards is just obnoxious.  I was seriously tempted to take his card out, give it back to him and tell him I’d just get it.  In hindsight, I wish I had.

So you’re thinking to yourself, maybe he had an awful time and didn’t view this as a first date…. maybe he just viewed it as two new friends going out for beers on a Monday night.  Yes, that could very well have been the case.  Until he began to walk me home, put his arm around me, and then stopped in the middle of the park to pull me in for a big, fat, SMOOCH.  Yepppp, he went for it, no hesitation.

Luckily the rest of the walk home was quick, because as cute as this Irishman was, I was still kinda turned off by the check splitting.  Am I acting like a crazy girl??  (No, seriously… tell me).  I think I might be.

‘Til we meet again…  xo

Another One Bites the Dust

Halo-Man down.  But this time it’s not my fault.  Okay, I’m sure it’s somehow my fault.

People reading this right now and shaking their heads at me:

1.  My mother

2.  My Aunt Di

So everything was going well.  If “going well” means moving at a snail’s pace.  And if “going well” means the person you’re dating is boring as a brick.  Okay, that’s really not fair.  Halo was awesome.  He was a really good guy down to the core, and very studly [looking].  It was just IMPOSSIBLE to get him to LOOSEN up.

Last Friday night I had a cookout in my backyard.  Among a bunch of friends, Halo joined, as well as Chase and Brittany, my brother and sister-in-law.  The afternoon of the BBQ, Halo expressed that he was kind of nervous to meet a couple of my family members, but in a good way.  I assured him they were the furthest thing from scary or intimidating and I was sure they’d get along perfectly.  More than I can say about myself, all three of the people in that equation (Halo, Chase and Brittany) are extremely friendly and likable.  Not to mention, for me it’s not a huge deal to bring dates around my family members.  My siblings have met more random d-bags than I can count over the last year, so it’s really not a big step in the process for me.

Halo prefaced the night by telling me he was “most likely” going to be taking the train back to the suburbs where he lives that night, but I HATE putting a timer on things, and those trains do not run all night long.  I figured once the beers started flowing, I could talk him into missing the train and staying over (dude move?  maybe…)

We are all sitting around the fire pit playing games, when, dramatically, as the clock strikes midnight, Cinderella stands up and announces “I gotta go.  I have to catch the train.”

I’m like “WHAT?  No…. we’re all having fun, the night is just beginning.  Just stay over.”

“No, I can’t I have a lot to do tomorrow.”

I’m not really used to not getting my way.  Especially when there’s no good reason for me to not get my way… or when I do a really dramatic pouting face with a whine.  What he “had to do” the next day was GO GOLFING.  At NOON.  Which he does EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY AND SUNDAY and random days during the week.  He did not HAVE to go home at that very moment.  It was definitely not necessary in order for him to get to the golf course in time.

So now of course, he leaves, I pout, and then I talk behind his back with all the remaining guests.  Everyone agrees that his abrupt exit was a little unusual, but they are of course playing devil’s advocate for the guy.

Next day…. I’m still pissy.  And kinda confused.  These signals are so mixed.  I know you’re a prude, I know you’re a regimented, disciplined guy.  I know you drink a few beers and fall asleep by 11pm, but if you like someone enough (which he claimed he did) who you’ve been dating for A MONTH, it’s a Friday night and you’re hanging out having a good time, WHY WOULD YOU REFUSE TO STAY?  It’s not like I was gonna rape the guy.  He very well could have slept on my couch, or in the bathtub for all I cared.  I just wanted him to hang out longer.

He sent me a couple of texts that day expressing that he feels if we are going to continue dating, he should put more effort in than he has been.  I just kinda didn’t say much, because I felt like if you’re dating someone new that you really like, the word “effort” really shouldn’t have to be used.  ”Effort” comes into play way later on.  The rest of the weekend passed with no suggestion of seeing each other.  I understand weekend 1, weekend, 2, MAYBE weekend 3 of dating someone…. your weekends are your weekends…. but weekend 4?  When you really have no set plans?  You should want to spend some time with the person you are dating, should you not?

So I reached my end.  I texted him today and told him I didn’t see anything progressing, and that I was beginning to lose interest.  I felt like things should have been going somewhere by now if it was going to happen.  Wouldn’t ya know it?   He agreed.  The weasel agreed.  And he agreed it was his fault that it wasn’t progressing, and he just didn’t know why he didn’t want it to more.

Fact of the matter is, we’re not compatible.  We both like each other, and enjoy each other’s company, but it takes more than that to have a relationship with someone.  So that’s freakin’ kaput.

I went home to Long Island Sunday evening.  T-Diddy and Dad were over my Aunt Di’s having a post-bridal shower bash, so I crashed.  We’re sitting around the table having old person talk, as my cousin Sam and I are intermittently rolling our eyes at each other every time the old-person group bursts into TV theme-songs from the 60′s.   The topic of Halo comes up; at this point I was still in my state of confusion.  I gave them an example of how I couldn’t be with a boring guy, citing my previous night in the city where I went to a Cowboy bar with Chase and Britt and a few friends on the UES and didn’t get home til almost 5am.  I didn’t even leave my apartment til after 11pm, past Halo’s bedtime.  What would he have done if we were dating?  Not come at all?  Come, and left early?  Come and then we both would have left early?  None of these scenarios are enticing to me.  During this story, I mentioned how tired I was on the horrendous late-night commute back to Hoboken, and how I asked the guy next to me on the PATH if I could take a nap on his shoulder and if he could wake me up when we got to Hoboken.  He obliged.  Then was kind enough to walk me all the way home.

Aunt Di asks, “Was he cute??”

“I don’t know, I didn’t really look at him– I just needed somewhere to take a nap.”

I remembered he gave me his phone number, so today I went through my phone to find his name, and looked him up on Facebook.  Turns out he IS cute.  Hmmm who woulda thunk it?   So we’re meeting for a drink tonight.

What’s that saying about falling off of a horse?   This time I didn’t even really give myself time to hit the ground.  Giddy-up.

xoxo

Big Man & The Gym

Okay so here’s the deal… I hate the gym.  And the gym hates me back.  I have hardcore gym ADD and get bored after about 3 minutes of doing ANYTHING, so it’s very difficult to get a good workout.  It also pisses me off that there are FAT MIRRORS lining every freakin’ wall in that place.  Those mirrors do not make me want to stay there.  They make me want to leave.  And never come back.

Alas, the gym is apparently an important part of life if:

1.  You want to be healthy

2.  You want to be hot

3.  You want men to like you

I have put this place off for happy hours, my couch, and reality TV marathons for entirely too long.  I renewed my membership and started dragging my (extra-large) ass back in there about a week ago.  Another thing I don’t like about gyms are the men.  Men stare.  Men grunt.  Men try to make conversation with sweaty women.  They pretty much all just turn into full-on animals when they’re in there.  So I don’t make eye contact.  With anyone.

I rush into the dreaded gym today after work, to change quickly and catch a Pilates class.  I recently got over my fear of classes after I survived an hour-long full body plus abs workout on Tuesday.  The first five minutes of class I tried my hardest not to laugh as we were doing an 80′s-inspired warmup, and the next 55 minutes I spent trying not to cry. Sometime in the middle I wanted to punch the instructor in the face for not actually doing the stepping part, feeling she didn’t realize that it was physically impossible to take one more step onto that damn step.  Anyyywayy….. as I’m rushing in to change (not making eye contact with anyone), I hear, “Hello!  Hi…. How are you??!?  Hi!”  until I finally turn around and see a large man coming at me.  He obviously worked there, so I gave a friendly enough reply and then kept moving.  He started making small talk as we both walked towards the locker rooms, and then he told me he had a personal training cancellation (how convenient) and he was wondering if I’d like a free trial session.

“No thank you, I’m going to catch the Pilates class that’s starting in a few minutes.”

“HA!  Pilates… I’ll have you burning WAY more calories than that Pilates class.  Come on… why not?”

Ughhhhh…. I’m a sucker.  For pretty much anything.  If you gimme a good pitch, chances are, I’m probably going to give in.  So I warned him I am insanely out of shape, and also that I do NOT plan on buying his overpriced training package when we are finished (although not convincing myself that I won’t, because… well…. I’m a sucker.  For anything).

So I change and meet the huge man back outside the locker room, and OF COURSE we can’t just go do a workout because he has to give me the full-on assessment first.  It starts with a basic questionnaire… height, weight, age, whatnot.

“You’re 30???”

“Yeah, why?”

“You don’t look anywhere near 30.”

“Well that’s good.”

“Now get on the scale.”

GET ON THE SCALE??!  What’s the point in this form ASKING for my weight if you are going to make me stand on a scale anyway?  In public.  You don’t believe me?  Hmmm…

“I don’t want to get on a scale.  There’s a time and a place for a scale, and that is NOT at the end of the day, with all of my clothes on.”

“I’ll subtract.”

I got on the scale.  He subtracted the 4 pounds difference between what I KNOW I weigh (in the morning, naked), and how much his wretched old scale told him I weigh (in the evening FULLY CLOTHED with HEAVY SHOES).  Jerk.

Next he starts asking me a million questions from a form about why I want to get in shape, when the last time was that I was in shape, and who my motivators are.  Of course….

“So besides yourself, who else is motivating you to get in shape?”

“No one.”

“How about….. a husband?”

“No.”

“You don’t have a husband?”

“No.”

“How about a boyfriend?  Do you have a boyfriend?”

“NO!”

WTF.  I said I’m motivating myself, get off it.  After the questions are finally finished, he takes a device and tells me to hold it.

“Do you really have to measure my fat right now?  I’m fat.  Okay?  Now let’s just go do the workout.  This is taking too long.”

“Just hold it.”

“Ugh fine.”

He looks at the device with disgust and writes a number down on a blank piece of white paper.

“THIS is your body fat percentage.”  Then he draws a lonnnnggggg line with an arrow pointing down, and writes another number, much lower.  ”And THIS is what your body fat percentage SHOULD be.”

;lfakdjsfal;dskfja;ldkjsfa;ldfkj;alkdsjg;lakdsjg;alkdsfjalkdsfjas

I know!  That’s why I’m here!!!!!  Come onnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!

He makes me this whole pretty picture with graphs and equations and crap I really don’t care about, telling me all of the muscle groups I need to work to get to my goal body composition.  I.don’t.care.right.now.

Finally it was time for the workout.  We both stood up from our chairs, and Big Man takes the piece of paper he was drawing on, turns his back to me and shows it to another trainer standing next to him, whispering something.  They both turn and look at me.  He puts the paper down and walks over to direct me to the training room.

“Ummm… why did you just show that guy my paper?”

“Oh, he just didn’t believe how old you were, so I was showing him.”

I’m thinking in my head that it wasn’t that paper I wrote my age on.  ”You were showing him how fat I am, weren’t you???”

“No!  I was showing him your age!!!”

Yeah…. okay.   I brush it off and continue walking.  We went through a grueling workout, all the while, Big Man saying “COME ON” in a demanding tone in which I did not appreciate.  I gave him a few dirty looks.  He made sure I knew that his little brother is a key player on the Baltimore Ravens and hosting a charity event in the city tonight.  Okay… irrelevant while I’m doing squats on top of an unstable surface with a really heavy ball in my arms.  He kicked my butt for a bit, and then we returned to the personal training section for the predictable sales pitch to get me to buy an overpriced training package.  As I stood by the desk, waiting for Big Man to come over, I saw my white sheet of paper sitting on a table behind it.  I asked another trainer to hand it to me.

Just as I thought.  My age was NOT written on that piece of paper.  I don’t let things go easily.  Big man comes back over towards me and I hold the paper in front of his face.

“What were you showing the other guy??  My age is NOT on here!”

“He works for me.  I was just showing him how everything is done with the evaluation.”

Now I see him looking at someone over my shoulder, and then said something to him I didn’t understand.  I turn around to look at who he is talking to and another trainer is STARING at my ass.  STARING.  Like as in, I stared right back at him for a good 5 seconds before he even realized I had turned my head around and made eye contact with me.

“Yes???”

Big man says, “Oh don’t worry, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Yeah, I know YOU WEREN’T TALKING TO ME but this man is staring at my rear-end!

WTF is going on here.

“Tell me what you were talking about on my piece of paper.  WHAT WERE YOU SHOWING HIM?  I can tell you’re lying.  You’re not looking at me and now you’re laughing.”

“I’m laughing because YOU’RE LAUGHING.”

Finally….. he tells me….

“I was showing him your body fat percentage.  I was proving a point.”

“And what point is that?”

“You’re something we call ‘skinny fat.’  We had a meeting about it this morning, and I wanted to show him a real life example.”

“THAT IS SO RUDE!!!!!”

“It just means that a lot of people LOOK thinner than they actually are.  He didn’t believe me.  So I was showing him your numbers.”

As much of a sucker as I am for sales pitches, this man was not winning me over at this point.  He also didn’t do himself any favors when he incorporated the amount of money he predicted I spend per month on happy hour.  Well I’m not going to stop going to happy hour in order to pay for a personal trainer… that’s just absolute crazy-talk.  So try again.

I sat with Big Man for at least 45 minutes, using my negotiating skills to basically make them train me for free… but the computer system was not allowing him to input the low figures I was suggesting.  We BS’ed about life and football, I learned that the Big Man also played in the NFL before he dislocated his shoulder.  He taught me some plays, and we had a few good chuckles.  But when push came to shove I decided not to shell out the money for the training package.  I couldn’t commit to a year-long term.  A year is a long time.  A lot can happen in a year.  A TON can happen in a year.   And I’m not in a commitment kind of a mood right now.

xoxo

Gossip Girl